Extreme Cluedo
by TrekkieL
Summary: Johnlock. Sherlock refuses to get the milk, and when John goes, he is kidnapped by none other than Jim Moriarty! Sherlock has to find John by finding the clues and cracking the codes, but Jim has other things in mind... Rated T for torture. Written by me and FeeblePlatypus!


**you guessed it! Me and FeeblePlatypus! The legendary team! and the MASTERS of torture! The first paragraph and every other are hers, the second and every other are mine :) Enjoy:**

John walked over to the kitchen in 221B. He pulled open the fridge door and peered inside.

"Sherlock!" John shouted to the detective, who was in the sitting room. "Did you use all the milk again?" John sighed and shut the fridge.

"I may have done, is it important?" Sherlock droned from his armchair.

"Well it is now, I have to go out and buy some more." John sighed again as he slipped on his coat.

"I needed it." Sherlock deadpanned. John rolled his eyes.

"It wouldn't kill you to REPLACE it!" John shouted, slamming the door and storming downstairs before slamming the other door. Sherlock ignored it, or tried to. The doors to his mind palace were thrown open by a wind and the thoughts in each room flew everywhere, mixing them up and leaving messes everywhere. Mrs Hudson ran up the stairs.

"Have you two had a domestic?" She asked. Sherlock ignored her, trying to tidy his mind palace.

Meanwhile, John was at the corner shop, looking for the right kind of milk.

"Why are there so many different types of bloody milk?" He muttered under his breath. Suddenly, a pair of cold hands gripped him from behind and yanked him backwards.

Back in 221b, Sherlock was led on the sofa, trying to organise his mind palace. It just made a mess of itself without john there.

Bling!

Sherlock looked up as his message alert beeped. He picked up the phone and read the message.

Isn't it strange that John has been in the corner shop for 3 hours? - MH

Sherlock glanced at the clock. Mycroft was right, John had been gone for just over three hours now. Sherlock sighed as he realised that Mycroft had been watching him again. He pointed an evil glare at the corner most likely for the camera to be in, and stood up off the sofa.

"John?" He called out, in case he had come home without either the brothers noticing. There was no reply.

"Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson shouted up the stairs. Sherlock out in his coat and scarf and headed down to the front door. Mrs Hudson stopped him.

"This came through the letter box." She handed Sherlock an envelope. Sherlock tore the top of the envelope and pulled out the letter. He paled, dropped the envelope and ran out the door with the letter.

'Lets play hide and seek, but I won't play fair. I'm staying alive. - JM'

Sherlock stopped, frozen. A shiver ran through his whole body. Moriarty had John. Quickly, he shook the fear off. If he wanted to find John, then he had to be able to think straight. 'Staying Alive?' Sherlock racked his brains, flew through his mind palace for clues. Of course! The last time he had saw Moriarty, that song was set as his ringtone on his phone. The last place they were, the pool.

Sherlock almost ungracefully fell through the door as he eventually reached the pool. He had honestly expected to find john, or at least Moriarty, but of course... That would've been too easy. Instead, Sherlock found a note.

'You like puzzles, I like games. Let's play a game. A detective game. You have to find all the clues to find John. To your left, you'll see a wrist stap with a screen and a camera. You must wear this. All will be revealed if you bore me... Which you will. First clue: twinkle twinkle little star. - JM'

Sherlock put on the wrist strap and buckled it up. He foraged through his brain to find anything to do with stars. Stars, stars, stars, yes! The Lost Vemeer painting from the last case Moriarty set him on. He rushed over to the pool doors, almost slipping over with how desperate he was. He ran to the gallery, desperate to find John before Moriarty did anything awful to him.

Sherlock threw the doors open, causing the visitors to stare at him. Of course, Wednesday, open to public. He pushed past the people in the way and threw himself at the wall with the painting. Two security officers made their way over. Sherlock had seconds. He pulled the painting off the wall and turned it over. Finding a piece of paper sticking out the back, he pulled it out and stuck it in his pocket. The officers wordlessly grabbed Sherlock's arm and threw him, publicly, outside.

Sherlock stumbled outside, reached into his pocket and unfurled the slip of paper. It read 'Back where everything started. -JM'

Where it all started? Where had the game started? That would be the pool. No, too easy... Where had Moriarty revealed himself as his enemy? The pool... No. Where had the 'Sherlock fake' started? The pool again... Where did he and Moriarty meet? St. Bart's! That would make more sense. Sherlock also realised that was where he and John had met. He brushed that thought aside and set off to the hospital.

Sherlock burst into the hospital, almost knocking over Molly as he rushed around almost frantically.

"Oh, hello Sherlock! Wasn't expecting to see you today?" Molly said with a smile.

"Molly, have you seen Moriaty?"

"Moriaty?" She sounded completely lost.

"Jim! Jim from IT!" He almost shouted.

"Oh, him." She looked almost angry at the mention of his name. "No, I haven't. Sorry, Sherlock."

"Damn!" He shouted, pushing test tubes and chemicals out the way, looking under the desks and in the microscopes for the slip of paper. He couldn't find it. He started to panic. If he couldn't find the note, he couldn't find John. His wrist stap blinked and beeped. Sherlock turned on the screen.

Moriarty's face grinned up at him.

"What have you done with John?" Sherlock said, slowly, quietly, his voice sounded dangerous and scary.

"Oh, you mean your pet? I decided to have him round to play, that's all." Moriarty looked at Sherlock, eyes wide and staring.

"If you hurt him, I'll-"

"I'm sorry, what will you do?" He cut Sherlock off from speaking. "Send your brother down to come and scare me off?" He smirked. "Nah, I don't scare that easy." Sherlock stood, seething with anger.

"I didn't leave a note, I want to give it to you... Personally." Moriarty moved aside to reveal John, who was tied to a chair, semi conscious, in the centre of a white walled room.

"John!" Sherlock cried. John sat up slightly, making an effort to open his eyes.

"Sh... Lock?" John rasped. Sherlock looked at John in both shock and concern.

"This interesting little pet... Could be of some use." Moriarty smirked. "Just watch."

Moriarty picked up a small, silver knife and rolled up John's shirt. Sherlock knew what was going to happen.

"John, no!" Sherlock yelled, as Moriarty plunged half the blade into John's chest. John screamed in agony, writhing and kicking with the pain. The criminal moved the knife around under John's skin, never leaving his body. His cuts started to form vague letter shapes, which slowly turned into words. Sherlock flinched and anger rose in him every time he heard John cry out.

Once Moriarty had done the deed, he moved out the view of the camera so Sherlock could see the message.

'I believe in Sherlock Holmes'

"John? After... After the fall, I read your blog. Is there an entry called 'I believe in Sherlock Holmes'? Or an entry with those words?" Sherlock cried. John nodded.

"One... Was untitled... The other... A new beginning..." John panted. "Please Sherlock..." John whimpered. Sherlock felt his heart break.

Sherlock ran to the IT department in the hospital, knowing the next clue would be on John's blog. He needed to find John. He crashed through the doors in IT and stumbled to a computer, logged in as fast as he could. He logged on to John's blog and scrolled until he found the article 'I believe in Sherlock Holmes'

He scrolled through the comments, one was from anonymous.

'Suicidal detective?' To which John had angrily replied 'bugger off. I don't need reminding.' Sherlock though. Suicidal detective? The roof!

He leapt to his feet, scrambling to the stairway. He took the stairs two at a time, he must be near the end now. He threw open the doors to the rooftop and stepped out into the cold, winter breeze. A piece of paper lay, flapping on the rooftop, weighed down by a knife so it didn't fly away.

"Oh Sherly!" Moriarty's voice sliced through the bliss silence. Sherlock looked back at the wrist strap, having forgotten about it. "Read it."

Sherlock was about to moan about how he was gonna do that anyway, but opened the note and read it anyway.

'Stomach or back?'

Sherlock looked confused.

"What does this mean?" Sherlock asked. Moriarty lifted a knife.

"Where shall I plunge this knife in your pet? Stomach or back?"

"What?! You can't do that, that's not a riddle!" Sherlock exclaimed, trying his hardest not to let his panic show.

"Those are the rules, Sherlock. Stomach or back. Or if you don't answer... Throat." Moriarty grinned evilly. Sherlock felt a wave of panic and helplessness wash over him. There was no way he could get out of this.

"John?" Sherlock asked. If he had to pick, he wanted John to help him decide. Moriarty covered John's mouth with his hand.

"Oh no! That's cheating!" Moriarty sneered. Sherlock snarled. He wanted John to tell him! Which would John be more likely to survive? Sherlock suddenly saw John's eyes move, indicating his back. Sherlock sighed.

"Back."

"You sure, Sherly? There's still time to change your mind?" Moriarty said, staring into Sherlock's eyes.

"No. The back." Sherlock said, firm but quiet.

"Alrighty then, of we go! You ready Johnny boy?"

"John, I'm going to find you. I promise. I'm so sorry." Sherlock sighed. Moriarty made a fake retching sound.

"Sentiment doesn't suit you, Sherly." Moriarty scowled, lifting the knife and walking around John, standing behind him. John closed his eyes and Sherlock did all he could not to close his. John cried out as Moriarty plunged the knife into his lower back. Sherlock was frozen to the spot. Moriarty twisted the knife and John cried out louder.

"Please! Take it out!" Sherlock shouted. Moriarty obeyed, pulling the knife out sharply.

"Fine. Go ahead and ruin my fun. Your next riddle, first date." Moriarty smirked before turning his camera off, causing Sherlock's screen to go blank.

First date? Sherlock stood for a minute, confused. Of course! After their first time at Angelo's, everyone assumed they were dating. That must be it! He ran down off the roof, hardly acknowledging between the cool and warm air. He ran out the building at top speed, dashing to Angelo's.

"Angelo!" He shouted as he slammed the door open. All the diners stopped eating and turned to the curly haired detective.

"Ah! Sherlock! What can I get you? Where's your date?" Angelo asked, wrapping an arm around Sherlock's shoulders. Sherlock shook his arm off.

"Did anyone come in with anything for me? Like an envelope?" Sherlock asked. Angelo smiled, walked off and came back with a gold lucky cat.

"Some guy came in with this and said 'Sherlock's boyfriend, he will like.'

"Is that it? No envelope, no slip of paper?" Sherlock asked, frantically.

"Nope, just that I'm afraid." Angelo said. Suddenly, it hit Sherlock like a brick. The lucky cat emporium from the Chinese smuggler case! Sherlock thanked Angelo as he ran out the door, once more on the search for a clue to John's whereabouts.

Sherlock rushed down the streets until he got to the lucky cat emporium. There was no one behind the counter. He pressed the bell on the desk multiple times until the woman who he'd seen before appeared.

"Excuse me, but-"

"Someone's moved my cats!" She announced immediately, rushing from the desk to fix the problem. Sherlock looked around for the first time. ALL the cats were facing the direction of 221b...

"Never mind!" Sherlock yelled as he ran out the door and down the street, his coat billowing out behind him, flapping in the wind. He raced down the crowded London streets, dodging as many people as possible. Finally, he got to the shiny, black door of 221B Baker Street. Fumbling in his pockets, he searched for his keys. He found them, unlocked the door, and ran inside, yet again taking the steps two at a time in his hast.

He stumbled inside the flat, but he couldn't see John or Moriarty. Were there any rooms in the flat with white walls? What about John's room? Yes, they were white. Sherlock ran up the extra set of stairs to John's bedroom and threw the door open.

Sherlock breathed out slightly in relief when he saw John on the bed in the room. The relief quickly vanished however, when he saw Moriarty also in the room with him, knife in hand, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

"Sherlock..." John whispered, clutching the sheets on the bed and noticeably not looking at Sherlock. Sherlock turned to Moriarty.

"What are you planning to do with that?" He asked, indicating the knife. Moriarty grinned.

"We were just playing soldier, weren't we, pet?" Moriarty asked. John nodded his head fearfully.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked. Moriarty grabbed John's jaw and turned his head so John was facing Sherlock. Sherlock was taken aback.

John had a large scar on his face, from above his eye down his cheek.

"Oh, John, what has he done to you?" Sherlock asked, walking up to the soldier and examining the wound. The pain in John's eyes seemed to be bigger than the one on his face, or in his back.

"Hey, hey!" Moriarty exclaimed, holding up a hand. "Step back from Johnny there, Sherly, there's a good boy."

"And if I don't?" Sherlock asked, absentmindedly placing a hand over one of John's shaking ones.

"Bang!" Moriarty laughed as he pulled a gun out his back pocket.

"Just... Do as he says. Sherlock." John pleaded. Sherlock looked ready to refuse, but stood back.

He couldn't risk losing John again, this time it would be permanent.

"Well done, Sherly. Now, we're just gonna have a little more fun with soldier boy here, then I'll let him go, okay?" Moriarty said, voice smooth and steady.

"What's the catch?" Sherlock asked. "You never just 'let someone go', there's always a catch."

"No catch. It just means I win." Moriarty sneered. "You may have won the finding game, but I'm going to make you beg for mercy... Twice."

"Sher... Sherlock?" John took terrified, clutching the sheets in shaking, clenched fists. Sherlock turned back to Moriarty.

"You've already made me beg for mercy... Twice." Sherlock smirked. "Once when you carved the clue in John's chest and again when you stabbed him in the back. Therefore... game over."

"Hmm, yes, you're right... Moriarty said. Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. "Twice more I think, then we're done." An evil grin was plastered on to Moriarty's face. Sherlock froze with terror, John whimpered in fear.

The knife Moriarty was holding was suddenly plunged into John's back again, just below where the last mark was. John screamed in pain.

"No..." Sherlock whispered without realising, a lone tear flowing down his face. He eyed the gun, which was in Moriary's other hand. He quickly swung his leg under Moriarty's, tripping the criminal so he ended up on his back. Sherlock took the opportunity to swipe the gun and point it at Moriarty. Moriarty sneered.

"Every second you spend pointing that gun at me, the more blood your pet is loosing." Sherlock looked over in panic to John, who had removed the knife from his back and was now led on his side on the bed, breathing rapidly.

"What do you want me to do?" Sherlock half whispered, cursing himself for sounding so weak.

"Just beg me to stop... That's all" Moriarty smirked.

"Why? What could you possibly get out of that?"

"I would have broken the great Sherlock Holmes." Moriarty sneered. Sherlock dropped the gun and sighed.

"Please..." Sherlock's voice broke. "Please stop this... All of this..." Sherlock turned to look at John, who was led alarmingly still but still breathing. "You've won... Just please stop..."

"And, just once more? For me?" The criminal smirked.

"Please... stop. I'm begging you..." Sherlock said, tears falling individually down his cheeks. He looked over at John, who was panting and fighting for consciousness.

"There's a good boy. That's all I needed to hear." Moriarty smiled. "I'll leave you to tidy up the mess." Moriarty picked himself up off the floor and brushed himself off. "Let me know if he ever forgives you for what you let happen to him. For what you did to him." Moriarty laughed as he left the room. Sherlock wasted no time rushing to John's side.

"John! John?" Sherlock reached him and took a good look at his wounds.

"Sh'rlck..." John muttered, barely coherent anymore.

"Hey, John? Stay with me okay, you're going to be fine, I'm going to call a ambulance." Sherlock stood up to reach the phone and dialled the three digits. "You're going to be fine." He cried as John lost consciousness.

- a few hours later -

John awoke to the white sanitary walls of the hospital he knew so well.

'Well, I'm alive.' He thought, looking around the room at his surroundings. His eyes then fell upon Sherlock, who was sat in a chair with his head on the bed, asleep, with his hand gripping John's. John smiled.

His first reaction was to sit up properly, but stopped because of the agonising pain in his back from the multiple stab wounds. John groaned at the pain.

"John?" Sherlock awoke at the noise, looking straight to John.

"Hi there, Sherlock." John said softly.

"John!" Sherlock smiled. "I was worried! You stopped breathing twice... You worried us all!"

"Woah, Sherlock. Calm down, I'm ok. I have a monster of a headache though." John grumbled.

Sherlock reached across for the pain killer button and press the button twice before sitting back. He watched as John visibly relaxed.

"Thanks, Sherlock."

The painkillers were evidently making John drowsy, his eyelids started drooping and he slouched down slightly. Sherlock thought back onto what Moriarty had said. Did he really do this? I suppose it was his fault for making John go and get the milk in the first place. Oh god, Sherlock thought, this is all my fault.

"I'm sorry, John." Sherlock sighed. He couldn't bare to be here anymore. Not in this room. Sherlock stood and turned to leave. A hand grabbed him wrist and Sherlock turned to look at John.

"Don't go?" John asked. Sherlock swallowed. "Tis not your fault..." John added.

"But it is, John, don't you see?" Sherlock said, voice barely above a whisper. "If I hadn't been so lazy and self-obsessed then you wouldn't be here."

"Wha..?" John asked, sounding very confused.

"The milk, John. If I had just gone to get some, then you wouldn't of had to. You wouldn't have been captured or tortured... It's all my fault." Sherlock said, voice cracking, a tear rolling down his cheek. He turned away to leave.

"You told me it wouldn't kill me to replace the milk." Sherlock mumbled as he stopped. "You were right. It killed me that I didn't replace it." He added, stepping forward to leave the room.

"Sherlock? Please stay?" John whispered, leaning forward as he did.

Sherlock stopped. Even after all this, nearly getting him killed because of his own selfishness, John still wanted him to stay. Sherlock turned around to face John, and was glad he did. The happiness in his eyes when he knew Sherlock was going to stay, gave the detective hope, John did not blame him, he still wanted to be around him. For a man that apparently doesn't have a heart, he certainly felt something warming inside his chest.

Sherlock smiled weakly and sat back down in the chair by John's bedside.

"So next time, I'll get the milk?" Sherlock asked. John laughed, taking Sherlock's hand in his.

"Next time, we'll both get the milk, together." John smiled.

"I love you too, John." Sherlock announced suddenly. John paused, slightly shocked and confused.

"Go on then, how did you deduce that I love you?" John asked. Sherlock lifted his and John's entwined hands.

"It's not difficult, John." Sherlock smiled. John grinned.

"How did that happen?" He smirked sarcastically.

"You know, I have no idea" Sherlock replied, smirking at John. They both giggled slightly, and Sherlock rested his head on John's chest, wary of wounds. Sherlock felt happy. For the first time in a long time, he felt properly, genuinely happy.

"You know..." John started, running a hand through Sherlock's hair. "You did your best. I know you did." John assured him. Sherlock shook his head.

"I should have found you sooner. He asked me where I'd like him to STAB you, John!" Sherlock cried.

"Shh. It's ok." John soothed. "You did what you had to. I told you what to do that one time, yeah?"

Back at the flat, a few days later:

"John, we're out of milk" Sherlock shouted into the sitting room where John was sat.

"Why do you need some?" John asked, curious. Sherlock never needed milk, apart from in experiments, which Sherlock had put on hold for a week.

"I was going to make you some tea." Sherlock replied, blushing slightly.

"Well then, I haven't left this flat in 6 days, doctor Sherlock, so what do you say we go and get some milk together?" John asked. Sherlock walked past the chair John was sat in and kissed John's forehead.

"I'll go. You need rest." Sherlock replied. John slumped further down in the chair, obviously bored. "No, John! Sit up or you'll hurt your back!" Sherlock cried, helping John to sit up.

"Sherlock, I'm fine" John laughed. "I think you're forgetting who's the doctor in this flat." Sherlock rolled his eyes, but smiled.

"Fine." Sherlock replied, leaning in to kiss John's head.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come as well?" John asked, obviously hoping he could finally get out of the flat. "I mean, what if Moriarty captures you, huh?" John said with a smirk.

"John..." Sherlock sighed. "Even Anderson could see your just trying to leave the flat. If you're that desperate, you can come with me, but I want to hold your hand the whole time."

"Subtle much?" John laughed. "You're treating me like a child." Sherlock smirked and walked over to the chair and tickled John mercilessly. John laughed.

"No! Sherlock, stop! Mercy!" John cried. Sherlock chuckled, and stopped tickling. John sighed happily.

"So, I can come?" Sherlock sighed.

"I suppose so, yes." John's eyes lit up, almost like a child's on Christmas. "But you have to be very careful, you hear me?" John nodded, feeling like a five year old.

-in the corner shop-

'Please insert credit card'

"I've put the bloody card in!" John shouted, drawing even more attention to himself. Sherlock chuckled.

"It helps if you put the card in the right way, John." Sherlock took the card out, turned it around and inserted it in the slot.

'Card accepted'

"I hate these bloody machines..." John muttered. Sherlock took John's hand, holding it tightly.

"And I love you." Sherlock smiled.

"Disgusting!" One man, who was with a young boy, shouted as he watch John and Sherlock. He tightened his grip on his sons hand. "Don't look at them, Timmy!" He turned the boy away.

"Hold on just a minute!" Sherlock stepped forward. John grabbed his arm.

"Sherlock, leave him." John pleaded. Sherlock shook his head and knelt down to the boys level.

"Listen, you don't let gender get in the way of love." Sherlock winked. The man grabbed Sherlock's shirt and pulled him up, punching him squarely in the face.

"Sherlock!" John cried, looking up at the man. "You don't want your son to see two men together, but you'll beat a man in front of him?! Shame on you!"

The man looked at John and then back to the boy, looking a little ashamed.

"Come on Timmy, let's go." he said to the boy.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" John knelt down beside him on the floor.

"Yes, John, perfectly fine"

"I told you to leave him." John muttered, picking the detective off the floor. Sherlock growled.

"He said-"

"I know what he said." John instituted, taking his card out and picking up the shopping bags. Sherlock immediately took the bags off him and carried them himself. John sighed. "I know what he said, and I told you to leave it." John and Sherlock left the shop and began walking down the road.

When they got back to the flat, Sherlock helped John back into his chair, regardless of john's protests, and put the milk in the fridge.

"Sherlock, what you did in the shop-"

"John, I told you to leave it."

"I wanted to thank you." Continued John. Sherlock looked surprised. "No ones ever stood up for me like that before, I would have just taken it. But you did the right thing and taught that man a lesson. And the kid as well I suppose." He said with a grin.

"Come 'ere." Sherlock smiled, pulling John's arm and hauling him to his feet before leading him to the sofa and helping him sit back down. Sherlock sat besides him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. John rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder.

"You ok?" John asked.

"Of course. You're here." Sherlock smiled, pulling John into a loose embrace.


End file.
